


Oh, Alien

by trees_fly



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alien!Josh, Aliens, M/M, guitar center, mission, records
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 15:53:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trees_fly/pseuds/trees_fly
Summary: Tyler meetshimat the music store.Heslams a record down on the counter, stabbing its side into the wood.Hepoints at it."Would you like this?" Tyler asks.Hepoints again, and leans on the edge of the record. It bends and bends until it snaps clean in two.





	Oh, Alien

Tyler meets _him_ at the music store. _He_ slams a record down on the counter, stabbing its side into the wood. _He_ points at it.

"Would you like this?" Tyler asks. _He_ points again, and leans on the edge of the record. It bends and bends until it snaps clean in two.

“That’ll be $27.50.” _He_ throws Tyler a hundred-dollar bill, takes the record and leaves.

Tyler meets _him_ at the music store again. _He_ takes another record from the shelf a week later. The album, named _Evolve_ , lands gently on the counter, with no cracks, no breaks, no shatters. _He’s_ gentle, _he_ pets it, and hands Tyler a fifty-dollar bill before leaving.

 _His_ feet are silent against the wooden floor. _He’s_ not wearing any shoes. _His_ hair is messy and _blue_ and leaves a strand on the countertop.

—

A party finds Tyler a week later.

Its music discovers Tyler’s feet before the disco lights seek out his eyes. He can feel the vibrations creep into his legs and settle into his beating chest as he walks home from the end of his shift.

He tries to avoid it, turning a corner that promised to be the escape route. But the party finds Tyler, swallows Tyler whole in its dead, purple lights and its meaningless puke that had the audacity to call itself music.

Panic swells in Tyler’s throat. People begin to crowd around him and push him farther to the center of the room. A ceiling grows above and the walls become one inch too small. The floor begins to bounce and shake with each foot and each beat drop and each scream. A man grabs Tyler by the wrist and drags Tyler closer to the vomiting speakers.

Tyler tries to snake through the dense group, pushing and pushing through hands, but everyone holds him back, shoving him further into the mass.

Tyler doesn’t dance.

Tyler can’t dance.

The music is ripped from the room and nobody dances anymore. Silence stabs through the floor, smacks the party in the face and leaves everyone wounded with shock. They turn and boo at the DJ. A shrieking drunk yells the loudest.

Tyler looks up to the DJ. The girl behind the garbling noise punches a man in the face as she screams for her computer. _He_ steps back from the girl.

It’s _him_. _Him_ with the computer tightly held in _his_ hands. Blue hair whipped and standing on its ends. _He_ hisses at the DJ and bolts from the room through a door Tyler never saw open.

Tyler runs after _him_. The crowd finally gives way; Tyler can finally flee.

\---

Tyler meets _him_ in an alley way. _Him_ sitting in the alley with the computer glowing in _his_ face. _He_ presses a button, the computer growls, and _he_ screams back at it.

“Are you okay?” Tyler asks. 

 _He_ looks up. Eyes wild, feet black as coal, hair as blue as the sky. _His_ mouth falls open and the words, “I am okay.” fall from _his_ lips in staccato, monotone fashion. It’s the first time Tyler’s heard _him_ speak, and _his_ voice sounds horrible.

“Who are you?”

 _He_ stands. It’s like a coin flipped. _He’s_ on _his_ bare, black feet, standing with such a posture that Tyler felt an intimidation that would crush him. _His_ hands drop to _his_ sides and _he_ smiles a charming, charismatic smile.

“I’m an alien,” _he_ says. _His_ voice sounds beautiful; a legato connecting a soft melody.

 _He_ leaves the computer, and walks deeper into the alley way.

\---

Tyler sees _him_ at the music store. _He’s_ picking up three records from the rack, and placing them down on the counter with a smile on _his_ face. Tyler shuffles and scans them. _The Human Condition_ , _Cage the Elephant_ , and _Queen: Greatest Hits._

“What’re they for?” Tyler taps the stack of records.

“A mission.” _He_ answers. “Something very important.”

 _He_ hands Tyler the exact total in cash and walks away gracefully with the records tucked underneath _his_ arm.

\---

Tyler sees _him_ on the street while walking home from work. Tyler stares at _him_ ; makes no attempt to say hello.

 _He_ matches Tyler’s blank stare. “Tyler, a surprise.” Smiling sharply, _he_ speaks in flat accents that strike the floor in three words.

“How did you know my name?”

 _He_ throws the question completely aside. “Something’s secretly out of control, Tyler.” _He_ says. “Do you know?”

“Know what?” Tyler crosses his arms. _He’s_ speaking like track 11: _Morning in America_. The chorus begins reading itself in Tyler’s head.

“You do know!” _His_ face rises like a double sharp.

“Know what?” Tyler repeats.

 _He_ waves _his_ hand, “Come with me.”

Tyler is hesitant to follow. _He_ walks directly across the street and yells at speeding cars.

But _he’s_ looking over _his_ shoulder, just once, and that convinces Tyler to cross the crosswalk and follow him into a dark alley — a shadowed alley with a door hidden at the end.

 _He_ holds open the door, a too gold light drifting across the ground and onto Tyler’s black shoes.

Hold on _his_ breath, Tyler takes a step and walks in.

At first, the room is unbearable. Too bright, too yellow, and too many records glued on the walls. At second, the records become overwhelming. At third, the room settles on beautifully chaotic.

There are too many records to count. Too many cassette tapes, CDs, snare drums and iPods that hang from the golden walls.

“What is this?” Tyler is stunned.

“My mission,” the alien says, “For my mission. I am not finished.”

 _He_ reaches for an album. _Some Nights_ , says the label and _he_ presses it to Tyler’s hand.

“You do know the chaos in this,” the alien says, “Feel it.”

Tyler doesn’t dare move his hand. He doesn’t need to. Under his calloused fingers, he feels the grooves and the edges in _Some Nights_ that might have never been intentionally put there. _He_ notices that Tyler notices and smiles that sharp smile.

“What’s your mission?” asks Tyler.

“It’s classified. But in time, maybe you will know what it is.”

—

Tyler greets _him_ at the music store. _He’s_ wearing shoes with bright red socks. _His_ clothes fall neatly on _his_ frame and _he_ walks like a ballerina through the racks of records, selecting two, and placing them on the counter. _The Fray_ and _Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys._

“You’re total will be $75.86.” _He_ hands him the exact change and begins to leave, but Tyler calls, “Have you actually listened to any of these?”

The alien pauses. _He_ turns slow in _his_ new shoes to face Tyler’s question.

“Every single one.” _he_ answers, “And every single one feels sadder and more broken than the first.”

—

“I can’t name this feeling.” _He_ says. They’re back in the golden room with _Night Visions_ pressed underneath Tyler’s hand.

“Its desperation.” Tyler answers quietly.

“Makes sense,” _he_ answers, bland minor chords smudge in his voice. “He sings of missing something in this.”

Placing _Night Visions_ to the side, _he_ lays _The Dark Side of the Moon_ on Tyler’s fingertips next, and a vibration of unnamable feeling grooved in the record makes its way up Tyler’s arm.

“Why don’t we just listen to these instead?” Tyler asks.

 _He_ shoots Tyler a look void of all glee. “You can’t gather everything just by listening, Tyler. There’s more to life than just purely listening.”

“Is that your mission, then? To seek us in song? Do more than listen?” Tyler tries.

“That’s classified.” _He_ answers too quickly.

—

Months fly by. A new routine of working and greeting the alien settles into place; the music store is running dry of music.

 _He_ shows up every day, telling Tyler every day _his_ mission is getting closer. More melodic and andante words fall from _his_ mouth with a stronger and more elegant poster to _his_ shoulders. _He_ feels records, asking Tyler every day what the record feels and brushes it on Tyler’s hand. _His_ smile stands.

“I just need one more.” _He_ says, and buys five.

—

A knock appears at his apartment door. Tyler’s roommate is kind enough to answer it, and is quick to say, “It’s for you, Tyler.”

The alien stands at the door. _He_ stands at the door. A hat covering _his_ bright blue hair, a smile on _his_ face, hands stuffing _his_ pockets.

“What are you doing here?” Tyler is genuinely curious. _How did you find my apartment?_ Is genuinely terrified.

“Tyler,” _he_ pauses, “I have the last record.”

“The last?”

Nodding, _he_ holds out _How to Save a Life._

“There’s a meaning I don’t get. But you do, Tyler.”

“I do?”

“Tyler,” pausing one second too long, _he_ says: “My name is Josh, and I need you for this mission. Do more than just listen carefully; everything is important.”

Surprise sends his words flying from his head. Tyler can’t do anything but nod.

 _Josh_ smiles, opens _his_ mouth, and speaks.

**Author's Note:**

> i made this for an audition for denver school of the arts. the audition is this saturday (12/16/17). 
> 
> hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> wish me luck.


End file.
